


Lies of the Flesh

by Hopetohell



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Light Angst, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28524825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: And he says he’s ready but he lies. He lies, and you take this knowledge out of his flesh, not in pain but in slowness.August Walker gets pegged. That’s it, that’s the fic.
Relationships: August Walker/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Lies of the Flesh

_Either you fuck me now or I tie you down and fuck myself on you._ It’s an empty threat, it has to be; his words are like ground glass where he rests with his forehead on the coverlet. Sweat is beading along August’s spine and everything about him is in disarray. And it’s a hell of a mental image, picturing the sinuous roll of his hips above you, smooth dark silicone disappearing inside him

( _Where’s the end of it, you think? Here? If I pressed down, do you think I could feel it under my hand? Can I? I wanna feel how deeply I’m inside you._

_Pet. You can do anything you want as long as you fucking move_ )

And maybe someday you will; maybe someday you’ll strap in and hold your toy steady to watch his face twist in pleasure and concentration, to see his expression torn open when his thighs touch down against yours and he feels himself pinned so deeply. But that’s not today. Today he turned face down and said _give me everything you’ve got._

And he says he’s ready but he _lies._ He lies, and you take this knowledge out of his flesh, not in pain but in slowness, in the deliberate careful preparation that has his head down and his thighs trembling, that has the curve of his ass pebbled with gooseflesh as you work him open with the kind of care and patience that is pure torture for him. 

( _That’s three, how’s it feel?_

_Damn it. It’s good, it’s more than good, what are you waiting for?_

_I’m waiting for— hm. For four. Til you’re open enough to take it so easily I can get inside you in one long stroke and pull the breath right from your lungs. Til I can fuck you sloppy, **Walker.**_ )

And if this was the first time, you’d probably give him what he wants— you had, the first time, not knowing, not understanding that he was _cheating_ you, getting you inside too soon to force the pain— but this isn’t the first time. Now you know his tricks; now you see him. August tries so hard to stay in control, but when three fingers become four the stretch is so, so _much;_ he is sweating now from more than the effort of keeping still. 

_Fucking finally,_ he grits out when at last you slide your fingers free to wipe lube off on the coverlet— it isn’t yours so who cares, you’ll both be gone by morning— and when you press cool and slick and inexorable against him, and then into him, his breath shivers into a punched-out groan. 

( _Don't you dare stop. Don't you dare be gentle, goddammit, if you—_

_If I what? Hey. Hey. Listen. Do you trust me?_

_Do I trust— damn it, pet. Move._

_Do. you. trust. me.)_

His back is solid and warm and salty wet where you can’t help but lick at his skin; he’s so goddamned big and he could tear you to shreds, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t, but he does twist his hands in the coverlet til it’s in tatters. 

( _Because I trust you. God help us both._

_You— why would you— oh. Oh fuck, do that again. Harder this time. Make me feel it._

_Jesus, August. If I go any harder I’ll come out the other side.)_

Maybe it’s not the first time but it’s raw, somehow, his soft bitten-back sounds crushed between his teeth. There’s no painful edge here; he’s open and slick and _so fucking ready_ and it tears him to shreds. But he doesn’t stop you; precome is smearing on the coverlet and when you reach a hand around he is so hard, cock jumping at your touch. He doesn’t whine— he _doesn’t_ — if he did you’d take it to your grave: that soft sound you were never meant to hear. 

And here he is, reaching a hand to cover yours where it pets at his cock; he's down on one shoulder and the side of his damn face, free arm braced taut, as much architecture as flesh. He could be Atlas, carrying the weight of the world's sins. He is a wild and fearsome thing, and he is flying apart at the seams. He never lasts like this, he _can't,_ not when you drape yourself heavy over his back and rut into him like a wild thing, intent on taking him to pieces. It's only his strength left holding you up, until it's all too much and he collapses; you ride him down to the bed and he trembles for half a moment til he can wrest himself back under control. 

And, pulling free, you dip the tips of your fingers into him; already his body is beginning to forget you, but he still makes a soft little grunt at the feel of it. But it's so hard to end it, so hard to watch his walls come back up, building higher and higher til he can't remember what being vulnerable felt like. 

( _Hey. August. Hey. You okay? Are you--_ )


End file.
